


In the Kingdom of Comets

by jibber_jabber



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst and Romance, Bittersweet Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fantasy, Fictional Religion & Theology, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Mild Sexual Content, Original Mythology, Supernatural Elements, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibber_jabber/pseuds/jibber_jabber
Summary: “Lady Rosefeather,” Zoelle said flatly. “What a pleasure.”“Don’t look so excited to see me.”When the talented but overconfident court sorceress, Zoelle Moonweaver, makes a promise to the king and queen that she can contact the gods and guarantee their protection in the approaching war, the last person she expects to offer her assistance is the strait-laced Captain of the Guard, the Lady Adelin Rosefeather.She's also the last person she expects to fall in love with, too.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Sensible Royal Guardswoman/Arrogant But Skilled Court Sorceress (Original Work)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	In the Kingdom of Comets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/gifts).



The Court of the Half-Sun, despite what their name might suggest, only gathered on nights when the full moon appeared. It had been this way for over two hundred years, and the people of Ilhonia, being a rather superstitious bunch, feared breaking tradition.

But the fires of war—as they often do—changed everything.

The court’s sorceress, Zoelle Moonweaver, had been in the midst of creating a new familiar (her old one, a wolf named Luther, had been skittish as of late) when she received her summons. The stout and self-important royal messenger, a man by the name of Althius, burst into her chambers unannounced to inform her that the king and queen had ordered the court to convene during the crescent moon for the first time since Ilhonia’s founding.

Zoelle sighed at the interruption, then snapped her fingers. The tawny cat before her dissipated. “What in Mjesec’s name could you possibly want right now, Althius? You know, some of us have important work to do that requires concentration.”

Althius ignored her barbs, puffing out his chest as he delivered his message with unnecessary emphasis. “Your Royal Highnesses _re_ -quest your pre- _sence_ at the Court of the Half-Sun at dusk. They have provided no _fur_ -ther details as to the reasons for your summons. Please do not tarry too long.”

Zoelle glanced outside the window of her tower to where the sky had begun to darken. Lamps hung from the castle walls, illuminating the area in a golden glow and casting their light on the guards that passed along the perimeter. She’d been so absorbed in her work that she hadn’t noticed it had gotten so late. “Yes, of course,” she said, a bit gentler this time. “Who am I to refuse the summons of the king and queen?”

It did not occur to her to wonder why they were not meeting under the full moon.

The court convened in the highest of the five towers at Castle Windvale, which held only a single room with a round, wooden table just big enough to fit every member. Zoelle took her customary seat to the right of Chancellor Robinsong, the king and queen’s closest advisor; her appointment had shocked the kingdom at first, as her youthful appearance did little to betray her brilliant tactical mind. 

“Zoelle,” she greeted with a nod. “I hope this evening finds you well.”

“Indeed,” Zoelle said. “Though I wish I had not been torn away from my work so soon.”

Across from Zoelle was the Lady Adelin Rosefeather, who watched her with a steady gaze. She was the no-nonsense, strait-laced, stern-talking Captain of the Guard and spoke little during court gatherings, preferring to listen and offer her opinion only when it became imperative that she do so. Truthfully, Zoelle found her sensible and cautious nature when it came to matters of the kingdom utterly boring. When she noticed Zoelle watching her, she tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and looked away.

The king and queen entered last, taking their seats in ornate thrones next to one another. Their arrival had been preceded by the blare of a trumpet, which Zoelle had always found to be a bit excessive. But she supposed it wasn’t her place to make such an objection. 

Everyone stood to welcome the king and queen. When the king took his place, he signaled for the court to be seated. It was generally agreed upon by his subjects that King Theodorus was a man of many words but not light thought. A showman by heart, he preferred to act as the face of Ilhonia while his beloved Queen Isadora and Chancellor Robinsong, along with the rest of the court, advised his decisions.

“I apologize for the sudden and tragic breaking of tradition by calling upon the court tonight,” the king began, each word drawn out as if they pained him to speak aloud. “But we have urgent need of your help. Chancellor Robinsong has reason to believe our kingdom may soon be under threat of attack.” 

With that, he nodded in the chancellor’s direction. Chancellor Robinsong cleared her throat and stood up. She did not rise far above the table, being of a short stature, but her strong voice always commanded presence. The rest of the court fixed her with confused gazes. In her hand she held a scroll, which she unfurled on the center of the table to reveal a map. Across the northern border Ilhonia shared with the Sonnec Empire, she’d marked several spots with red X’s.

“I’ve received some troubling news,” she said, pointing to an X placed next to the great forest in the north. “Our scouts along the border here have reported increased patrols on the other side. Soldiers from the Empire.”

A tense silence fell over the room. Queen Isadora looked down at her lap, her face darkened and troubled. She folded her hands together tightly. Zoelle glanced around the table, wondering who would be the first among them to break the silence. She knew it wouldn’t be her; she held little interest in the affairs of war and preferred to spend her time engaged in more arcane pursuits. Lady Rosefeather—who had a more vested interest in matters of war than the court sorceress— studied the map for several moments, then lifted her gaze to the chancellor. 

“It is true,” she said. “I am the one who received the initial reports. I have since sent more troops to strengthen our position on the border, but I fear we may be outmatched by the enemy. The Empire’s training regimes and battalions are far superior to ours.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. Since the break of last winter, the Sonnec Empire had grown from a small patch of land in the northwestern corner to sweeping across nearly the entirety of Taevas. Ilhonia remained one of the last independent kingdoms due to their location, positioned far from the enemy’s origin point.

“I only wish that we had some way to know when they are set to invade us,” Queen Isadora said at last, lifting her head to gaze upon the faces of the court “That we might have adequate time to prepare our defenses and have them at peak readiness when the time comes.”

Zoelle tapped her lower lip, thinking. She generally considered her position as removed from the trivialities of war, her primary concern being the continuation of her research and the growth of her magical powers. However, she had recently become interested in pushing the boundaries of her talents, to see just how far she could push her own limitations. She was, after all, the most gifted magic user in the land. How interesting it would be…

“If I may offer my input, Your Majesty?” Chancellor Robinsong said. The Queen nodded. “I have spent some time analyzing the enemy’s war strategy. In all of their conquests, they have begun with smaller attacks at the border, followed by a large, sweeping invasion. To weaken their prey before hunting them down, so to speak.”

Then, without thinking, Zoelle opened her mouth.

“What if I could predict the day of the invasion? By asking the Deities?”

“I beg your pardon?” Queen Isadora said.

“I know I sound like I ought to be placed in the hospital and have my head examined,” Zoelle said with a small laugh. She leaned back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. “But if I were able to make contact with the spirit world, then perhaps they could tell me when they foresee the invasion, and I could ask for their protection. After all, who better to predict the future than the masters and creators of time themselves?”

A few murmurs broke out around the table, and no one would look at Zoelle. King Theodorus was the only one brave enough to address her directly.

“Zoelle, do you truly believe you would be able to do such a thing?” he said. “Contacting the Deities—it’s practically unheard of.”

Zoelle started to answer, but was cut off, to her surprise, by Lady Rosefeather.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said, drawing out her words as she glanced around the table, gauging reactions. “Magic is a gift, and even gifts from the Deities have their limitations.”

Zoelle narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. She sniffed. “Are you questioning my abilities, Lady Rosefeather? Because, if you are, I’d like to kindly remind everyone here that I am the only one in Ilhonia able to summon from the spirit world, and I believe my abilities as well as my ties to the Deities should be sufficient.” (Granted, the only thing she’d summoned was a glowing bunny the size of her fist, but it was more than any magic user in Ilhonia’s recorded history).

“Not at all,” Lady Rosefeather responded, narrowing her eyes in kind. “Just offering my input as someone who has quite a bit at stake if we were to go to war with the Empire.”

“Then we strengthen our forces at the same time!” Zoelle said as she threw her hands in the air. “What is the harm of allowing me to conduct my trials as we prepare for war? We have nothing to lose and everything to gain here.”

“Save your overgrown ego,” Lady Rosefeather muttered, so quiet that Zoelle had almost not heard her.

“What did you just—”

Queen Isadora held up her hand.

“Please,” she said. “Let’s keep to the matter at hand. Lady Rosefeather, prepare our guards for battle. Train your best. Chancellor Robinsong, I trust you will work with Lady Rosefeather on plans for our defense.” She took a deep breath, then turned to Zoelle. “And we… shall put our faith in you for this task. As you have pointed out, we do not have much to lose in this situation by allowing you to conduct your experiments.”

King Theodorus stood, glancing at his wife. “Then it is settled,” he said. “On this sad day in Ilhonia’s history, we shall begin our preparations for war. Court dismissed.”

The Court of the Half-Sun rose uneasily to their feet, its members speaking in hushed tones among themselves. Lady Rosefeather lingered by the court jester, a disgruntled expression on her face. Zoelle tried not to gloat too much. Chancellor Robinsong, who had been inspecting the map, broke away to speak with Zoelle.

“I sure hope you’re right about your abilities, Zoelle. I truly do.”

Zoelle smiled.

“I wouldn’t worry at all, Chancellor Robinsong,” she said. “You can trust me.”

* * *

Zoelle Gladios Celeste Moonweaver was born in the year 157 of Ilhonia’s Second Era, with healthy brown skin, a full head of curly black hair, and dark eyes that held secrets unbeknownst to most mortals. Unlike other children her age, she was born with a moon on her forehead that marked the presence of the Eleven Deities, who gifted her with the ability to use magic beyond the reach of even the most practiced sorcerers. Like the tides, her powers waxed and waned with the moon, and the symbol often changed to reflect its current state.

At the moment, it was a half-moon, which meant her powers were not yet at full strength. It had been a week since the council met. The thick volume she’d pulled from the castle library on contacting the Deities sat on a table cluttered with alchemical ingredients and magical reagents, accumulating dust on the cover. Zoelle reached out and touched a hand to the cover of the book, bumps from the indentations and carvings on its surface digging into her skin. She sighed, then walked towards the window to rest her elbows on the sill. Outside, the half-moon cast silvery threads on the grass and thick trees below, and she watched as a crow cawed, then settled on one of their branches. She’d always wished that she had a view on the opposite side, the one that overlooked the royal gardens, which were filled with many vibrant flowers native to Ilhonia. 

A knock came at her chamber door. She ignored it. Another two knocks came not a minute later, much more insistent this time.

“Zoelle? It’s the Captain of the Guard. Please open the door.”

Lady Rosefeather? What in Iella’s good name could she possibly want, especially at this hour? With a roll of her eyes, Zoelle yanked open her chamber door to reveal a distressed-looking Lady Rosefeather. Deep circles ringed under her eyes, and the whites around her irises were tinged with red.

“Lady Rosefeather,” Zoelle said flatly. “What a pleasure.”

“Don’t look so excited to see me.”

Zoelle was surprised to see the hint of a smile on Lady Rosefeather’s face. Was she making a joke?

Lady Rosefeather’s mirth faded quickly. “I came to check on the progress of your attempts to contact the Deities,” she said. “On orders from the king and queen.”

Trying not to appear too guilty, Zoelle fixed her with a hard stare. “Of course it is going well,” she said. “I’m the most talented magic user in the kingdom, after all.” As if about to give a demonstration of her abilities, she held up her hand and rubbed her index finger and thumb together.

“Right. Do you mind if I come in?” Lady Rosefeather said, clearly not believing a word that had just come out of Zoelle’s mouth. “The king and queen intended that I assist you on this endeavor more thoroughly.”

Zoelle resisted the urge to groan in frustration and stepped aside. This was just like King Theodorus and Queen Isadora. Though they trusted Zoelle, they themselves had little experience with magical matters and typically deferred to those on the military side to handle their most trusted tasks. Lady Rosefeather nodded in thanks and walked into the chambers. She didn’t say anything for a while, instead choosing to wander around at her leisure, stopping to examine every stray book or shelf she could find. Zoelle drummed her fingers on a nearby table and grit her teeth.

“Well, I can assure you that things are going quite well here,” she said. “There really is no need to check up on me.”

“Are they now?” Lady Rosefeather stopped in front of the book on the Deities, brushing a finger over its cover. “Because it seems to me that this book here has hardly been touched. Or perhaps you’ve already done your research and begun your attempts to contact the spirit world?”

“A task of this nature requires preparation,” Zoelle said. “Perhaps even you could understand that?”

Lady Rosefeather ignored her as she moved along, picking up a thick volume with a cracked spine and a skull embossed on its cover. She held it by her fingertips, as if afraid it might burn her. “You’re involved in the… dark arts?” 

“Ah, necromancy, yes.” Zoelle nodded impatiently, still bent over her spellbook. “It’s a legitimate school of magic, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Lots of untapped potential. But if you intend on trying it, let me offer some advice—don’t try to reanimate a court jester. Those fools never, and I mean _never_ , stop talking.”

Lady Rosefeather set down the book with barely disguised unease on her face. 

Zoelle shrugged and made a dismissive noise, looking back down at her book. “Did you just come here to criticize my practices and research, or did you actually need something?”

“I already informed you I’m here on behalf of the king and queen,” Lady Rosefeather said. Then she stepped forward and pried Zoelle’s hands off the book before closing it herself. The thick cover slammed shut. “And I don’t intend to leave. In fact, Queen Isadora herself thought I should help you with your… experiments.” 

Zoelle, now truly infuriated, reopened her spellbook and glared at Lady Rosefeather. “I don’t need your help. The finest sorceress in Ilhonia can do without your ‘generous’ offer to assist.”

Angry red splotches formed on Lady Rosefeather’s cheeks, and her lips pulled down in a disapproving frown. Her eyes darkened. “Dammit, this isn’t about your pride, Moonweaver,” she barked, her voice reverting to a tone Zoelle had only ever heard directed at recruits when they practiced on the fields outside the castle doors. “There are real lives at stake. Why the hell can’t you understand that?”

Zoelle bristled. “Moonweaver?” she said. “I am the court sorceress. How dare you speak to me like I’m one of your soldiers?”

She fixed Zoelle with a hard and unforgiving stare.

“I’ll give you respect when you treat this matter with the gravity it deserves.”

“Get out of my chambers.”

The guardswoman said nothing, but her shoulders heaved with deep breaths. The red splotches were still there on her cheeks. She turned slowly, made her way to the exit, and gave Zoelle one last angered look.

“If you are the reason my people fall to the Empire…”

Then she shook her head, refusing to finish the thought. When she left, she slammed the door behind her, and Zoelle felt its echo lasted far longer than it should.

* * *

Zoelle was not typically prone to bouts of introspection. But after her confrontation with Lady Rosefeather, she thought that perhaps the Captain of the Guard had a point. With the invasion of the Sonnec Empire looming, her success could be critical to saving Ilhonia from certain conquest. From where she sat at the desk in her chambers, she sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead. Then she dipped her feather into a small pot of ink and started to write, her quill scratching against rough parchment.

_Dear Lady Rosefeather,_

_I apologize for my rude dismissal of you the other day. I believe some help in this endeavor may be quite useful. If you are still willing to assist me, please stop by my chambers tomorrow afternoon._

In the quiet of night, Zoelle slipped unseen through the castle halls, the hood of her robe pulled up over her head. Candles flickered in their sconces, illuminating portraits of the royal lineage that hung around Castle Windvale, their subjects dating back to the founding of Ilhonia. She’d always found their presence a bit unnerving, knowing, as all magic users do, that the dead are often not as dormant as they appear. She stopped outside a room in the west wing of the castle. The Captain of the Guard’s quarters, just above the guard barracks. The note, she slipped under the door before she crept silently back to her tower.

* * *

Someone knocked on Zoelle’s door at midday. When she peered through its small hole, she was surprised to see that Lady Rosefeather had read her letter after all. She had a fresh layer of sweat and dirt on her forehead to go with the tangles in her hair; Zoelle had forgotten, in her haste to finish her letter, that she would be training recruits during the day.

“Lady Rosefeather,” Zoelle said as she opened the door. She tried to be more cordial than she had their first meeting.

The lady in question held up a hand. “Don’t call me that,” she said. “It makes me sound so fragile. Like I’m breakable or something. Just—call me Adelin.”

Standing at a solid six-foot-two with broad shoulders and long, sweeping blonde hair that was permanently a windswept mess from riding all day, Adelin certainly never appeared breakable. Zoelle felt short just standing next to her, which, as someone with a tall and willowy frame, she didn’t often experience. She beckoned Adelin inside.

“You hate it that much? Why do you never say anything?”

“It’s my family name and what the king and queen prefer to call me,” she said as she walked inside the chambers. “Some of us know when it is best to keep our mouths shut on certain matters.”

Zoelle thought about rebutting, but decided it was best not to break their tentative alliance. She puttered around her chambers, pulling out magical reagents she’d been thinking might aid their attempts to contact the Deities. Adelin watched with a careful gaze, deliberately not touching anything, and was much more reserved than her last visit. A crash from outside the door broke Zoelle’s concentration, and she glanced over, annoyed at the interruption—until she heard a young voice yelling on the other side.

“Lady Rosefeather! There’s been an attack at the border!” they said. “The Empire—”

They didn’t finish. Adelin had already yanked open the door to reveal a guard in recruit’s armor. They trembled visibly, holding onto the doorframe for support. Their long hair, pulled back in a ponytail, had come undone from its band. In their shaking hand, they clutched a scroll that Adelin took and read, eyes scanning the page in a flurry. Then she rolled it back up and stuck it inside the bag on her back.

“We have to go at once,” she said to the recruit. “Send for troops to come with me. I will meet you down by the stables. And tell Midos to prepare two horses to ride.”

The recruit nodded, saluted, and dashed off to deliver Adelin’s message. Zoelle stood behind Adelin, feeling suddenly faint.

“Come with me,” Adelin said, turning around to face Zoelle. “I need you to see this.”

Zoelle didn’t argue. She followed Adelin, who sprinted through the castle with practiced ease, out the front doors and into the wild grasses surrounding Castle Windvale. They ran until they reached the stables at the foot of the hill, where a stablehand waited with two horses and one set of reigns in each hand. Adelin mounted the black horse, a stallion that bucked as soon as she got on its back. She didn’t seem bothered by this in the least, holding on until the horse had calmed down and returned to the ground, ready to ride. Zoelle mounted the other horse, a mare with a chestnut coat, and tentatively ran a hand down her neck. A group of guards assembled on their own mounts waited for Adelin’s command. She led her stallion to the front, motioned for everyone to follow, and started to ride.

They galloped through the capital, greeted by surprised citizens who squinted through the dust the horses left in their wake just to get a glimpse at the guards. Crowds parted to make way for the oncoming stampede, and some ran for cover. The horses dashed through the open gates to the city towards the lush forests of Ilhonia’s countryside.

“Stay with me,” Adelin called out to Zoelle, who was starting to fall behind.

Zoelle urged her horse on and rode beside Adelin all the way to the border, the thick trees and small roadside towns passing in blurs. Despite the current circumstances, she thought the beauty of Ilhonia still held true, even when she was unable to savor it properly. After an hour of riding, they reached the border camp, which was in a clearing surrounded by a half circle, the open area facing the land of the Sonnec Empire. Twenty guards had been stationed there. Zoelle smelled the smoke first before she saw the fire. 

The camp had been completely destroyed.

Flames licked the edges of the tents and turned them to ash, while smoke billowed in the air. Bodies of dead soldiers lay on the ground, their skin varying degrees of burnt and limbs sprawled in every direction. An empty pail lay near the center of camp—someone had tried to fetch water to put out the fires but was too late. Zoelle’s stomach clenched, then lurched, and she tasted something acidic on her tongue. She felt as though some string that had kept her tethered to the world had snapped, and there she was, floating above, no longer in her own body. An unforgiving emptiness washed over her.

The only one in the group not frozen with shock was Adelin, who turned to her guards and barked an order. “Go find a creek or some other source of water, fetch as much as you can. We have to put out these fires.”

Zoelle held out a hand to stop her. “No!” she cried. “No, don’t send anyone. I can handle this.”

She cupped her hands, then spread them, palms out. At first, only a few drops trickled down her fingers. Then a steady stream of water shot out from her hands and dampened the flames, which went out with a violent hiss. They left behind only scorched earth and dead grass, revealing the faces of those who had fallen. Their clothes, which were now drenched, clung to their bodies, and the burns on their faces were like a dark sun she couldn’t look away from. Adelin dropped to the ground and walked slowly towards the camp, assessing the damage. Eyes downcast, she bent over a dead soldier—a young boy, no older than twenty suns—and whispered a prayer over him. No one else moved, waiting for the captain to say something to them.

“Come,” she finally said at last, facing the others. “We cannot forget this, or the ones we have lost.”

One by one, they dismounted their horses, feet hitting the destroyed earth in a chorus of soft thuds. Zoelle moved on unsteady legs to circle the camp. The faces of the dead seemed to follow her as she walked. Then she saw the note, a piece of parchment tucked in the leather breeches of a recruit. She picked up the note and held it away from her, as if it might set her too on fire. The parchment was now wet, its edges dissolved and ink smudged, but Zoelle could still make out the symbols that had been written. They were in the Sonnec alphabet, a tongue she understood only because she intuitively understood every language in existence. 

“‘Your false gods will perish,’” Zoelle read aloud, quietly. Then again, louder, and everyone in the camp turned to look at her.

A chill ran through the length of her body. The others stilled. Then Adelin took the note from Zoelle’s hands. Facing the troops, she ripped the parchment down the middle, then again into the four pieces, and dropped the remains in the dirt. 

“They want us to feel fear,” she said. “I will not give them the pleasure.”

The guards formed a collective salute to their captain, some of the tension easing from their faces. Zoelle joined them. Adelin then sent a scout back to the castle for reinforcements, to help transport the dead back to the capital. The rest of them remained in silence at the camp, grief passing between them like flowing waters, binding them all together in its unyielding current.

* * *

A funeral procession moved through the capital of Ilhonia the following week, originating at Castle Windvale and winding down the road into the main square. Each fallen soldier was carried in black caskets emblazoned with the moon and stars, and they glowed in the gray of the rainy dawn that greeted them. Citizens trailed behind, clad in dark robes to signify mourning, and followed the procession as it traveled from the castle, through town, and to the crest of another hill where the burial was to take place.

Zoelle led the procession with the rest of the court, walking just behind the casket bearers and the king and queen. When they arrived at last at the burial site, which was lush with bright flowers and tall willow trees—gifts from the Deities to commemorate the dead—she took her place next to Adelin. The soldiers’ caskets were opened, revealing them to the onlookers. Their bodies had been cleaned of blood and dressed in the finest garments that could be procured.

A priestess, who was to bless the departed souls, stepped forward from her position under the willow’s branches, her hands clasped in prayer. She mumbled something to herself, then bent down before each soldier in turn, touching their foreheads gently with her palm and reciting the traditional rites for fallen heroes. Raindrops slid down her fingers and onto their pallid skin. 

“O Denir, God of Death, grant these souls easy passage through the spirit world, that they might take their rightful places in the heavens.”

The ends of the priestess’s shimmering green robes dipped into a puddle, but still she did not move from her position by the bodies. She closed her eyes. 

“O Iella, Goddess of Rebirth, grant these souls pardon for their hero’s death, that they might return to our world once more at your bidding.”

Zoelle turned her face so that Adelin wouldn’t see the tears. 

The climb back up the hill to Castle Windvale was quiet. Somber faces hidden under their black hoods faced the wet earth, footprints sinking into springy mud and moss. Adelin and Zoelle walked beside one another, leading a group of guards and other royal servants. A mist clung to her eyes, and Zoelle couldn’t tell if it was from crying or from the oppressive fog that curled in tendrils like deadly vines. Water dripped off the trees in a steady rhythm, marking the silence, and she drew shuddering breaths in time with it. The castle doors opened with a long, aching creak as the guards posted outside prepared for those returning from the funeral. 

A hand touched her shoulder as they passed through the castle entrance. Adelin. The guardswoman did not look at her, but Zoelle knew it was her cracked leather glove. It was a brief touch, gone as if it had never been there to begin with, yet Zoelle felt as though the ghost of her fingertips lingered long afterwards.

* * *

She didn’t sleep the night after the funeral. Instead, she snuck down the castle library and took all the books on the Eleven Deities and the spirit world she could carry, bringing them all the way up to her tower. She pored over their contents, desperately flipping pages in an attempt to find a way to reach the spirit world. The memory of the burning camp ( _fire, death, destruction_ ) and the dead soldiers’ faces ( _young, young, they were so young_ ) seared her mind. All the books came to the same conclusion: contacting the Deities was nigh impossible. But that couldn’t be it, Zoelle thought. 

She would find a way—she’d swear her life on it.

At the break of dawn, Adelin found her asleep atop the pages of an old tome. Red light from the rising sun streamed through the window and across Zoelle’s cheeks. Feeling another presence near her, she blinked and looked up through hazy vision to see Adelin hovering over her.

“Zoelle? Are you alright?”

Zoelle sat up, straightening her back and brushing a hand through knotted hair. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m—” She sighed, and her shoulders slumped forward. “They were so young, Adelin. How do you ever get used to seeing your soldiers die like that?”

Adelin’s lips formed a tight line, and she turned away from Zoelle, fixing her gaze on a vial of bubbling blue liquid on a nearby shelf. There was a faint mist in her eyes. “You never do,” she said. “You just learn to hide it better.”

“Are you scared? If the Empire does invade, of what might happen?”

“I’m terrified,” Adelin said softly. “But I have to pretend otherwise, if only for my soldiers’ sake.”

She placed a hand over Zoelle’s, which rested atop a page of incantations.

“We have to keep moving forward. We can never lose hope.”

Zoelle blinked back the tears that had sprung to her eyes and nodded. “You’re right,” she said, regaining her strength. “I have to press on.”

She stood up and tugged on a lock of hair, the ringlets pulling down and springing up as she released them, chewing on her lip as she thought. “There is an incantation,” she said, reaching down to the open book and turning a couple of its pages. A series of letters and symbols written in an ancient language, set in deep purple type, sprawled across the parchment. “I was reading about it last night. The book says that our ancestors, the first settlers of this land and the receivers of the first gifts from the Deities, used it to make contact with the spirit world. But only the most powerful magic users among them could successfully use it, and even then it’s incredibly rare that it works.”

“Are there any dangers to using this… incantation?” 

“It would certainly push me to the limits of my abilities, potentially weakening my physical state if it doesn’t work correctly. Or even if it does work, since the spell takes a significant amount of energy to cast,” Zoelle said, pacing the room now. Her footsteps echoed on the stone floors. Beside her, the new familiar, an orange cat, padded by her feet.

“But do we have any other choice?”

Zoelle stopped, sighed again. She rubbed the moon on her forehead, which was now three-quarters of the way to a full moon. “No,” she said. “I don’t think we do. There’s no other recorded way to reach the spirit world.”

“Then let us hope it works,” Adelin said.

“Yes,” Zoelle said. She retrieved the vial from the shelf and handed to Adelin. Their fingertips brushed as she passed it to her. In Adelin’s grasp, the bubbling liquid inside the vial slowed and eventually stilled. “Keep this on hand. It’s a healing potion. You may need to administer it to me if I grow too weak from reciting the incantation.”

“I understand,” Adelin said. “I’ll guard this bottle carefully.”

Zoelle allowed herself a small smile.

“I suppose there’s no time like the present,” she said, placing herself in the center of the room, directly above the symbol on the floor, a diagram of the Deities. The image was said to gather magical energy wherever it was depicted.

She began to recite the incantation, those ancient words tasting like the air and the sky but somehow also like the land itself. She felt knowledge and wisdom coursing through her as she spoke. Her eyes closed. She breathed in and out, concentrating on pulling the magical energy from the ground up into her very soul, just as the book had instructed she do. Gray mists clouded her vision, and a deep feeling within told her this was the barrier to the spirit world—strong, forbidding, impassible. Then at once, it crumbled to dust, and Zoelle’s mind went entirely blank.

When she opened her eyes, she was back in her chambers, dizzy and disoriented. Everything before her went fuzzy, and her knees buckled underneath her. Before she hit the ground, a pair of strong arms caught her.

“Zoelle? Zoelle, can you hear me? Can you hear me?” It was Adelin.

Zoelle nodded. Everything was swimming, and she felt as though she might vomit. Adelin dragged her backwards and set her gently onto a wooden seat. Then she popped the seal off the vial, holding it up to Zoelle’s lips until she’d drunk a small portion of it. Zoelle felt warmth instantly radiating throughout her body, and her vision stabilized. Feeling stronger, she sat up once more.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. “Guess that’s why I keep you around.”

Adelin smiled softly. “I knew there must have been some reason,” she said. “Did you see anything?”

Zoelle shook her head. “Only the barrier to the spirit world. But it’s impossible to break through. I can’t explain it. It’s… it’s like being blocked in every part of my being, sapping all of my strength.”

“The Deities have always intended to be unknowable to us,” Adelin said. 

Adelin wasn’t wrong—since the dawn of Time and the creation of Ilhonia itself, the Deities had existed as the all-knowing, mysterious force of nature. They owned Time and all their other creations, and could bend them to their will. But they remained adamantly against tampering with the affairs of the mortals they served. It was in that moment that Zoelle realized the uphill battle she and Adelin faced.

“You’re probably right. But I do know one thing—this is going to be one hell of a job,” she said at last, cracking a small smile. “Even for one as talented as me.”

* * *

The royal blacksmith worked in the lower levels of the castle, hidden from most except those who sought him out. A stout, gruff man by the name of Galdor, he preferred to keep to himself and his forge, basking in the embers and coal as one might in the sunlight. Wielding the hammer as his brush and the metal as his paint, he could forge the finest sword or plate of armor. Zoelle occasionally descended into the basement to speak with him, particularly when members of the guard had need for enchanted weapons or armor. On the midweek before the full moon, she went to find him, hoping he might be able to help her with something. She breathed in smoke, trying to stifle her coughs.

“Zoelle,” Galdor greeted with a curt nod. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need a sword. Dragonstone, preferably.”

For the first time since she entered the forge, Galdor looked at Zoelle. “Dragonstone? Only Lady Rosefeather uses a sword like that.”

“I—yes, it’s for her,” Zoelle said, grateful that the dark of her skin hid the flush forming underneath. “She has need of a new sword, to prepare for the coming war. King and Queen’s request.”

Galdor looked like he might comment further, but just nodded instead. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll have one for you in a couple hours. Can’t turn down a request from the king and queen.” 

When Zoelle returned to the forge, Galdor said little. Just handed her the sword. She took it by the hilt to hold it up, turning the blade to examine the craftsmanship. The silvery blade shone in the light of the fire. Galdor had engraved dragons slithering up the sides, fierce and ready for battle, even in the face of danger. Just like Adelin, Zoelle thought.

“It’s perfect,” she said. “Thank you, Galdor.”

Cradling the sword in her hands, Zoelle took the long spiral staircase back to her tower. Once inside her chambers, she set it upon her enchanting table. Green light emanated from its surface, and Zoelle placed her hands atop the blade. The light encircled the blade, tightly weaving around it as she concentrated. Once she had finished, the sword glowed faintly.

When Adelin arrived at her chambers that evening, Zoelle presented her with the sword. 

“This is for you,” she said. “In case… in case we go to war.”

It had become more apparent as they continued their attempts to reach the spirit world that their mission was nothing short of embarking on an impossible journey. Each evening after Adelin finished guard training, she ventured up to Zoelle’s tower to assist her, often staying well into the night. Sometimes, when Zoelle was too weak too continue her work, they would sit together by the window, and she would tell Adelin stories about the stars that she’d gathered from her youth. Zoelle would never admit how much she enjoyed those parts, when Adelin would look at her with such attention. Like she was the only thing in the world worth listening to.

But although they had learned to put their differences aside for the sake of saving Ilhonia, they had gotten no closer to achieving their goal. Zoelle struggled against the walls the Deities had placed around themselves, unable to tap into that fierce magical energy they’d gifted her with. Even when she managed to find a hole in their barrier, she would press her ear up to it only to find that the Deities refused to speak. And a chill would touch her heart, knowing that those who had been with her since birth, the ones who had given their blessing, were turning so far from her in her deepest hour of need.

Adelin turned the blade in her hands, inspecting it with admiration. Then she looked up at Zoelle. “Is this dragonstone?”

“It is.”

“And what of the glow around it?”

Zoelle gave her a close-lipped smile. “I’ve enchanted the sword to be more powerful than it might ordinarily be. Thought you might need it, as one of the most important members of our army.”

There was a sharp intake of breath as Adelin glanced over the sword again. “I’m beginning to suspect you’re growing fond of me,” she finally said, faint smirk on her lips. “Since you went to all this trouble to forge me such a blade.”

Zoelle crossed her arms over her robes. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “It’s the practical thing to do.”

Adelin nodded, but mirth still twinkled in her eyes. “Indeed.”

Pivoting sharply, Zoelle went to one of her shelves and picked up a red stone with glittering crystals embedded in its surface. She clutched it in her hand, ran a thumb over the rough texture. “Thought we might try this today. It’s the stone of Obris, said to enhance a person’s luck.” As the Deity of Fortune, the people of Ilhonia often prayed to Obris in times when they had a most desperate need to fulfill. Zoelle herself had used the stone on a number of occasions to ease the casting of particularly difficult spells.

“Right,” Adelin said. “Perhaps that will help.”

Zoelle made a _hmm_ sound, then said, “Yes. Perhaps.”

Stone in hand, she muttered the incantation to herself over and over again until she once more entered the limitless space between the physical and spirit world, facing that damned barrier again. This time, she reached a hand up to touch it. Her hand moved through the wall, mist floating through her fingers. But she could push no more. Sweat beaded on her forehead and rolled down her face, and she felt a sudden chill as voices behind the barrier chanted ancient prayers. Their words rolled through Zoelle’s mind like thunder, but she couldn’t make sense of them. Her head throbbed.

Then she found herself back in the physical world, and the spirits were gone. She collapsed to the ground, and Adelin lunged forward to pick her up. But Zoelle stood before she could help her and began to recite the incantation again.

“Zoelle, don’t—”

Adelin’s words dissipated into nothingness as Zoelle approached the barrier. But this time, she was much further away, and each step felt like wading through water. She tried again. And again. And again. After she had collapsed another three times, she sat on the floor with her head between her knees, drenched with sweat. 

Adelin crouched beside her and held out the healing potion. “Zoelle, you must stop this,” she said. “If the war comes, we need you alive.” She paused, looked away. “I... I need you alive.”

Zoelle looked up into Adelin’s worried eyes. Her cold chest warmed. “Okay,” she croaked. “I’ll… I’ll stop.” She took the potion, draining it until her strength returned, bone by bone, muscle by muscle. When she was able to move again, she stood shakily and walked to her bed, sinking into its soft mattress.

“That’s better,” Adelin said, looking visibly relieved.

“Did you mean that?” Zoelle said. “About needing me alive?”

“You should know me well enough by now to know that I rarely say things I don’t mean.”

She gave Zoelle one last, lingering look. Then she left, and the door went softly behind her.

After Adelin left for the night, Zoelle sat on her bed and watched the window until day broke; she couldn’t remember the last time she had slept soundly through night’s passage, so she thought she might as well avoid sleeping altogether. She thought of war and of death, of losing her homeland. But so too did she think of a woman, one who was equal parts strength and kindness, ferocity and gentleness—and she prayed the day would never come that the woman would have to raise her sword to the Empire.

* * *

The Sonnec Empire attacked the border again the following day, in the early morning just before dawn, while the stars were still alight in the sky. Althius spread the message through the castle, calling the guard to arms. Troops were sent to the site of the attack to assess the damage, already been too late to stop the Empire. When they returned, Zoelle received word that the soldiers stationed at the camp had been captured and taken to the enemy’s capital. She bowed her head with her hands in a prayer and wept when she heard.

Adelin didn’t return that evening, having led the soldiers to the site. Zoelle was completely alone in her chambers.

She stood from her seat. With a swing of her arm, she flung a great fireball against an empty wall, watching it spark, burn, and dissipate against the cold stone. Zoelle clenched her hands into fists. Then she stepped onto the insignia of the Deities. The incantation slipped from her lips like wine from an overflowing goblet, sloppy and rushed. The barrier appeared, and for a moment she thought she could see through to the other side. Her heart leapt.

But then it faded, and only darkness remained. 

Zoelle opened her eyes.

Flinging open the door to her chambers, she dashed down the steps, consumed by a need to get away, away, anywhere but here. Down the hill from the castle and into town she went, passing through the now-empty marketplace and weaving past houses lit only by the lamps in their windows. It was near midnight, so the town would remain dormant until daybreak. Zoelle dashed through dirt streets, stopping only when she reached the Temple’s large wooden doors, engraved with the symbol of the Deities.

The Temple to the Deities was open to all who needed guidance, never closing its doors to Ilhonia’s people, no matter the hour. Zoelle pulled their handles, breathing heavily. Inside the Temple she walked. Arranged in a semicircle were the likenesses of each of the Eleven Deities, the ones the people of Ilhonia prayed to day and night. The ones they looked to guidance for. She sank to her knees, looking up at the great Mjesec’s form, blank, unmoving, unfeeling. For the first time in her life, she found his stare cold and empty. 

“Why won’t you talk to me? Why—” She choked on the word. “Why have you abandoned us?”

A breeze blew through the open window on the side wall. It was a brief rustle, but nothing more. There was only silence. There was only ever silence. Zoelle stood up and found her knees ached. Her chest felt empty. As if in a daze, she beat her fists against the walls of the temples again and again and again, feeling bruises starting to form on her skin. She wanted to scream.

“Speak to me,” she cried. “My people are under attack. _Your_ people are under attack.”

Then she wept, her throat growing scratchy and raw. She unclenched her fists, slid her palms down the smooth walls until she reached the ground. Her robes billowed out beneath her, spilling out onto the wooden panels, and she felt a draft through the window again. Her eyes squeezed shut, and the remaining tears rolled down her chin and onto the floor.

“Please.”

Her legs were unsteady when she rose at last, knees shaking and toes numb. She rubbed a hand over her face and took a deep breath to steady herself, wiping away the last of the tears she’d shed from her cheeks. When she finally left the Temple and began her long journey back to the castle, the world felt much colder to her than it had before. There was an emptiness there, one that not even the brightest light could fill. The dark horizon before her seemed to stretch on forever, and she looked into its depths as she walked.

Up in her tower, Adelin was waiting for her. When she looked at Zoelle, the warmth normally found in her hazel eyes was gone, replaced by something hard and sad. 

“We posted extra troops near the border,” she said, voice cracked, raw. As if she’d been crying. Zoelle couldn’t imagine the strong, steady Adelin breaking down, and the thought almost sent her back to her despair in the Temple. “We were still outnumbered.”

Zoelle reached forward and traced over her palm, feather-light, before lacing their fingers together. With a sudden jerk, Adelin took her hand away and pulled Zoelle into her arms, her whole body shaking. For how long they embraced, Zoelle could not have said. But as they did, the smallest flicker of comfort nestled itself into her heart, a reminder that even in the cold, unforgiving world they inhabited, she wasn’t alone.

* * *

Eyes red and swollen when she woke up the next morning, Zoelle spent her day in sullen silence, staring pensively out her window. It had been almost a month since the court had adjourned, and she was no closer to her goal of reaching the spirit world. The kingdom lived in muted terror of the day the Empire would attack to claim their land. Rumors that the queen had begun to lose her hair from stress and that the soldiers trained so much they could scarcely move afterwards ran wild amongst the people. Those who had never worried a day in their lives had started to pack their belongings and retreat deeper into the wilderness of Ilhonia, moving as far away from the border and the capital as they possibly could.

She leaned over the sill to glance out onto the castle grounds and watched as a young couple dressed in servant’s attire embraced under a willow tree. Life went on, she supposed. Even in the face of fear.

The sun’s descent barely registered in her mind, and when it did happen, she felt as though hardly any time had passed at all. That night was the full moon, and it shone bright, piercing through the dark. The symbol on her forehead pulsed with power and energy, and for the first time in a while, she felt something a bit like hope. She pressed a hand to her head and then to her chest, whispering a prayer. The words seemed hollower to her than usual, but still she spoke them anyway, desperate to nurture that hope.

Adelin arrived just as the moon had peaked in the sky. “Your forehead,” she said. “It’s glowing.”

Zoelle nodded, contemplative. “Yes. I am at the height of my power this very moment.”

It was gone almost as quick as it had come, but Zoelle caught the flicker of interest that passed across her face. “That bodes well for us tonight, then.”

“With any luck, yes.”

Zoelle closed her eyes and breathed in and out. She stood atop the symbol of the Deities. Magical energy flooded through her body, filling her bones and her limbs and the tips of her fingers with a feeling like lightning crackling through the sky. Voice solid and strong like the river currents, she started to recite. At once, she found herself back at the entrance to the spirit world. Songs floated from behind its impenetrable barrier, both sweet and sorrowful. But it was all different this time. She could feel it. Zoelle inhaled sharply and lifted a hand to touch the wall.

The barrier dissipated under her touch, revealing itself like an oyster might reveal its pearl. A light reminiscent of the stars themselves blinded her briefly, then retreated, leaving only a faint glow. Stardust traced a path through the hole where the barrier had once been. Zoelle stepped forward, pulled along by some unknowable force. A glowing silver mist formed a path beneath her, and her footsteps made light imprints in its surface, then dissolved as she moved.

She came to a clearing deep in a forest, not unlike the ones on the mortal plane. But here, she could feel the energy of the trees and the grass and the flowers, how they all communicated with one another. It thrummed with a life unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Standing in its center were eleven figures that looked like mirages, their auras shimmering in the air. Mjesec, Iella, Denir, Obris—the Deities one and all, at last in front of her. At once they spoke, both a shout and a whisper in her mind.

_You have come to us. No mortal has done so for a long time._

“My kingdom is in trouble,” she said. Her words echoed off all four corners of the world, then came back to reverberate against her very soul. “Your kingdom.”

_We know what you seek, but we do not interfere in the affairs of mortals. We are merely the shapers of the world and its Time, the creators of the vessel in which you exist._

She dropped to her knees. Her hands, she raised to the sky, surrendering everything. “But surely, you know what is to come!” she said, voice rising in a desperate cry. “Please.” She placed her palms upon the cool earth and bowed her head. “Give me a sign. Protect us. Do something!”

_Your time here in the spirit world is short. We will concede, but not without repercussions._

Zoelle lifted her head, tears stinging her eyes.

Watch the skies. They tell all.

The mirages before her began to flicker, then fade, one by one. Darkness enveloped her. Zoelle tilted her gaze upwards, to the space that had just been filled with heavenly light. Now, it was a night sky like that of the physical world, dotted with stars. Mist swirled and weaved in between them, then moved across the sky to where the moon was. Understanding flowed through Zoelle.

A half-moon. The battle—that was when it would be. When the half-moon shone in the sky once more.

Everything started to shake, the spirit world falling away beneath her in a terrible shudder. She opened her mouth to scream, but no noise came out. Her mind felt as though it were being cracked in half, and she clutched her head in agony. A gaping hole formed in the ground where it shook, the trees tumbling into its void.

_Help me_ , she wanted to cry. But there was no one to help her.

At last, everything all fell away, and she had crossed back into the physical world. Zoelle collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap, cold sweat soaking her skin. The stone floors of her chambers chilled her, and she shivered violently. A figure knelt beside her, pushing back curls that clung to her forehead. Adelin. Her solemn face broke through the blurriness that was overtaking Zoelle’s vision, and she reached out through the haze. A hand grabbed hers, strong and callused.

“Zoelle? Are you alright?”

There was a note of panic in her voice. Zoelle nodded weakly.

“The battle. A fortnight… the half-moon. Waning,” she whispered, feeling her voice crack. “I saw Them. In the spirit… the spirit world.” 

Adelin clutched her hand tighter. Her eyes widened. “You did it. You actually did it.”

She placed two hands under her armpits to hoist her up off the floor and cradled her. Zoelle had the distinct feeling of being young again, a child in the arms of a savior. Adelin placed her upon the bed, the soft bedding beneath her a welcome reprieve. She smiled up at Adelin. Then she closed her eyes, and the world went black again.

When she awoke, she was still in her bed, tucked underneath a fur blanket. A figure was lying next to her, back facing the wall. It was Adelin, who opened her eyes slowly. They softened when she saw that Zoelle was okay. Strands of hair covered her face, and she looked peaceful, contemplative. She’d stripped down to her underclothes, and it felt strange to see Adelin without her plates of armor on, to see who she was without any barriers between them. But it was also comforting, and something in her heart warmed as she gazed upon the woman beside her. Without thinking, she reached out to cradle Adelin’s cheek in her palm, stroking the skin there with her thumb. At her touch, Adelin closed her eyes. 

“Adelin,” Zoelle murmured. “Thank you. When I returned, I… I thought for a moment that I was going to die.”

“I would never have forgiven myself had anything happened to you in there,” she said.

As she continued to circle her cheek with her thumb, Adelin sighed, so softly that Zoelle almost missed it. She placed a hand on Zoelle’s chest, where her heartbeat steadily thumped through her skin. And for the first time since she’d started this insane quest, Zoelle felt alive. She leaned forward to press her lips to Adelin’s, soft and sweet. When she pulled away, Adelin was gazing at Zoelle, an unspoken question forming in her eyes.

“Please stay,” Zoelle whispered.

Adelin turned and kissed her open palm. Then she clutched the front of her robes and pulled her in for another kiss, this one slow and deep in a way that felt like sunshine dancing across the meadows, like flower petals peeling off in the spring breeze. Zoelle shifted so she was on top of Adelin, weaving her fingers through her long hair like silk, and sighed into Adelin’s mouth. Adelin shifted so they were sitting up, then pulled back to peel off her thin undershirt, tossing it gently to the ground. Zoelle studied the shape of her, the way her breasts illuminated in the glow of the moon, her skin smooth like porcelain. Then she followed suit, removing her robes until there was nothing left to hide herself. _Here I am_ , she thought. 

As if she had heard her thoughts, Adelin whispered, “I am yours,” and kissed her once more. As they sank back into the bed, Zoelle lost herself completely in Adelin, feeling that emptiness from her encounter with the Deities begin to quell. Knowing that when the Empire came to seize their land, that at least they were able to be on this mortal plane together, dancing as one in the eye of a storm.

* * *

When the king and queen received word of Zoelle’s success the following morning, they ordered a ceremony to be held that evening in her honor, gathering the people of Ilhonia in the halls of Castle Windvale for a grand feast. Although the invasion of the Empire was imminent, her contact with the spirit world was taken by the people as a sign that the Deities stood with them and would not let them fall. Defenses were prepared with that fortnight timeline in mind. Zoelle had, at the request of her rulers, already begun to work on wards to place outside the castle walls. Adelin continued to train her soldiers.

The feast saw everyone in good spirits, but Zoelle remained cautious, guarded, despite the praise given to her. As plates cleared, the king and queen offered their sincerest thanks to Zoelle and asked her to join them in front of the thrones at the end of the hall.

“Thank you,” Zoelle said, bowing low to the ground when she reached the thrones.

As Queen Isadora held out a crown of flowers for her, their vibrant colors woven into branches from the sacred oak tree that stood tall and proud in the castle’s front courtyard, Zoelle rose to stand. The queen placed it atop her head to the applause of everyone watching. But to Zoelle, the accolades were hollow. Although she had accomplished her mission, she had not told anyone of the Deities’ true nature, that of cold and distant creators. 

At the feast’s conclusion, she slipped out with Adelin close behind, the two exchanging soft touches as they walked. They retreated to Zoelle’s chambers and slipped into her bed, a strange, tranquil calm enveloping the both of them as they slept, intertwined in each others’ arms. 

The message came the second day of the full moon’s coming. Adelin and Zoelle awoke in her tower, limbs intertwined on the bed, to footsteps tramping up and down the hallways. Adelin rubbed her eyes and slapped her cheeks, as if trying to force herself into consciousness. Zoelle patted her gently on the arm. 

“What’s going on?” Adelin said. “Doesn’t sound good.”

“I’m sure whatever it is, it’s fine.” Zoelle said, and tried to make herself believe her own words.

Shouts outside the door made it immediately clear what the trouble was. The Sonnec Empire had crossed the border into Ilhonia, bringing with them the might of their entire army. They had razed the camps along the way, capturing soldiers as they went, and were headed for Castle Windvale to strike at the heart of Ilhonia. To force the king and queen to surrender.

The Deities were not going to protect them now. No one was. 

“How? _How_?” Zoelle’s voice was desperate, searching. “I saw the half-moon, I saw the—we were supposed to have more time!”

She shut her eyes, sifting through fogged memories of her time in the spirit world. The moon, the moon, where was the moon? Then she saw the clearing in sharp detail, every leaf on every tree coming into excruciating focus, and she looked to the skies. There was the moon, shining through the dark. But it was different. The mist that had been there before, covering the moon’s surface, was gone, and she could see now that it was a full moon. 

_We will concede, but not without repercussions._

She had misunderstood the sign.

Her head fell into her hands, and she cried out a choked sob. Adelin, as though she understood at once, placed a hand on her back.

“I have to go,” she said. “I have to go fight.”

She stood suddenly, frantically searching for her armor. Zoelle followed suit and sprang from the bed in a panic.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

“Zoelle, you can’t. We can’t afford to have you captured by the Empire, you’re too powerful.” Adelin stopped and put her hands on Zoelle’s shoulders. “I—I can’t afford to lose you, either.” Her grip tightened.

Zoelle reached a hand up, caressed her cheek. “If we go down, I want to be there with you.”

Adelin nodded, conceding at last. Her armor, which had been shed the previous night and stowed in the corner of the room, she retrieved and put on with practiced ease. Her face was stony, the expression of a true soldier. But when she looked at Zoelle, she could see the fear entrenched deep in those hazel eyes. 

“We must go,” she said quietly. The sword Zoelle had enchanted for her slipped into her sheath. “The battlefield awaits.”

Zoelle took the Stone of Obris, slipped it into her robe pocket. It did not bring her much comfort. Then she readied herself to follow Adelin out onto the battlefield. To defend their home.

Outside the tower, a crash rattled the walls, and Zoelle ran to the window. A patch of grass below had caught fire, and a blazing cannonball followed soon after, setting the rest of the nearby ground aflame. Her window shattered from the force, cracks like spider webs forming out from the center. The charge had already advanced far enough to attack the castle.

Adelin wasted no time once they left the tower, sprinting down the spiral staircase and through the halls of the castle. Zoelle followed close behind, adrenaline and terror pushing her forward, forward, into the horror that awaited them. The castle was dark, the servants having abandoned their normal duty to light the candles out of fear. When they emerged from the main doors, the assembled troops awaited them. Two horses were theirs to command, at the ready in Midos’s hands.

“Where are the king and queen? Are they safe?” Adelin said.

Midos shook his head. “They are, but I don’t know for how long,” he said. “Chancellor Robinsong took them further into the country as soon as we received word of the attack.”

Adelin pursed her lips, thought for a moment. But she said nothing. It was time to prepare for battle. She and Zoelle mounted their horses, and the latter galloped close behind as they headed to the crest of the hill. On the distant horizon, Zoelle could see thousands of enemy soldiers lined up and advancing towards them. Their arrows pierced the night air, and the flames continued to burst from their cannons. Zoelle looked over at Adelin, her heart suddenly seizing in her chest.

“If we lose this fight,” she started, then stopped, her voice choking. She tried again. “If we lose this fight, then just know that I am glad to have known you.”

There were other things she wanted to say, but she was too scared. As if speaking them aloud might make the worst come true. Adelin leaned over and pressed a kiss to Zoelle’s cheek. Soft, yet strong—that was her, through and through. Zoelle grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight, and Adelin squeezed back. Then she moved forward to command her troops, her presence like a vibrant light in the cold darkness.

Zoelle lingered behind. She gazed up at the sky to where the fire hurtled through the air like comets in the night, and thought, _my home is being destroyed. My home is coming to an end_. Her throat tightened.

But it wasn’t over yet—they could still fight. And if they were to fall to the Empire, well… then they would fall like heroes.

Up ahead, rows of cavalry galloped forward towards Castle Windvale, soldiers with swords and bows raised. Zoelle squared her shoulders and adjusted her position on her horse. The fight was not over yet. Then she readied a spell, turned to face the oncoming charge, and lifted her hands to the heavens, to the comets, to the world.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! I really enjoyed having the chance to write an original piece for this year's Chocolate Box and had a great time working on this story. Feel free to leave any feedback, if you're so inclined :) Otherwise, I hope you liked the story, and thanks for reading!


End file.
